Battle for the Dawn
by fmfan1980
Summary: My first GoT only story. An idea I had on how the final battle would go in Season 8.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own the rights to the characters, locations, or plots from Game of Thrones. They belong to their respective owners without whom this fanfiction would not have been possible. All reviews are welcome

The Long Night they called it.

A time when the Wall would fall, and the dead would walk across Westeros in a war against the living. A war which was prophesized. Stories based off myths and Legends, witches, and warlocks said that the Long Night would come once again when the long Summer ended and Winter came- and it did come. The maesters at the Citadel called the coming Winter the coldest in living memory.

It the end, the stories said the dead would walk past the wall- and nearly three weeks ago, it did fall. They said the Nights Watch would fall – and the organization did fall.

Myths said that the 'one who was promised would bring the dawn using the sword called Lightbringer'. This time, there was no Lightbringer. But there supposedly existed the 'one who was promised'.

There were two candidates for the prophesized role of the 'one who was promised', or Azor Ahai. One was the dragon queen, Daenerys Targaryen, riding on the dragon Drogon in the skies above the plains between the two castles of Karhold and Last Hearth, and Winterfell- the latter being the home of the Starks.

The other prophesized candidate was the man known as Jon Snow- the man who thought he was the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell; the bastard brother of Sansa, Arya, and Bran Stark- the last living survivors of the Stark family. However, his whole life was a lie.

His whole history was a lie.

Everything he knew was a lie- his sisters were not his sisters, his brothers were not his brothers, his father was not his father. Instead, no matter what he felt for Sansa, Bran, and Arya, he was their cousin and not their brother.

It was the very knowledge of who he was that distracted him; the very knowledge he wanted to know his whole life, the truth of his mother and his very reason for being- that knowledge was a distraction. But the truth about his true parentage was something he never expected, something that his sister-cousins had never expected. It was a shock to his system, a shock to his very soul. Jon remembered staring at Bran's glassy eyes as the latter spoke of a tower in Dorne, of a young Ned Stark at the bedside of his young sister Lynna who was bleeding heavily onto a bed while a wet-nurse stood to one side.

"Aunt Lyanna made him promise to keep you safe," Bran said back then, a few days ago at Winterfell before riding out to meet the dead. And Jon had been distracted ever since. "Your real name is Aegon Targaryen. You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." That knowledge was a surprise and a distraction.

It was that very distraction that had Jon miss the Wight that came up behind him and then skewered him with a rusty sword. The already exhausted Jon killed many other Wights that very day for the past hour, but those kills were only a drop in the vast sea of Wights that surrounded them. There were nearly a hundred thousand Wights that came down and surrounded the Combined Northern, Unsullied, Dothraki, and whatever Lannister forces that Jamie Lannister could shore up from the Lannister forces that had been laying siege to Riverrun.

Days before riding out to meet the Whitewalkers in what could be known as the Plains of the Dawn- the first battle in the War for the Dawn- the Combined Forces were met by the remaining Tully army, and whatever armies remained in the Reach.

It was a combined Northern army of a little over sixty thousand souls armed with dragon-glass that met the Dead in battle.

At least it was a little more than sixty thousand then; but that whittled down drastically after only several minutes. There were so many dead among the Combined Forces that it was impossible to tell who was still alive and who was dead.

Jon was panting as he looked down and all he saw was blood. The snow melted as the red liquid trickled down to the cold white crystals that covered the ground as a rusty blade remained visible after having been stabbed clean through his lower left side. Jon felt the cold air brush against the injury as time seemed to stop all around him. The screams of battle, the crumpling of bodies to the frozen ground after being killed by the Dead, the roar of Drogon and Rhaegar against Viserion in the air, the sounds of screaming as the Combined forces fought for their lives and the lives of the people in the realm.

The enemy was brutally efficient. Their numbers much too vast. But there was a plan. Tyrion had come up with a plan to put the odds into the favour of the living. A plan that everyone agreed with, even Sansa and Daenerys.

And once the players were in place, Tyrion's plan was put into motion. The Dead needed to be delayed so that Vary's could use much more sweet and exotic chocolates to entice his 'little birds' back to his side from Qyburn. They were to take stock of the remaining wildfire left beneath the tunnels of Kings Landing before having Vary's contacts in the capital transport the Wildfire to Winterfell- it was to be a weapon against the Whitewalkers and the rest of the dead. And the combined forces were meant to be delaying the march of the dead until the Wildfire could reach Winterfell.

Everyone expected the army of the dead to whittle down in size with the destruction of the White Walkers who stayed back in the distance and controlled the Wights. Tormund, Gendry, and several others were charged with the death of the Whitewalkers; they were to wait in a prearranged area close to the battle. Bran was charged with warging into ravens to discover the locations of the Whitewalkers from the godswood in Winterfell. Once he found them, a raven was due to be sent to Tormund and Gentry's teams.

And the plan worked. Tormund, Gendry, and several other fighters killed the four remaining White-walkers on horseback. Now, the only one remaining was the Night King on Viserion's back. He was the one they needed to kill to win the war.

The Wildfire may not be needed after all; that was the thought going through Jon's head once he had seen hundreds of Wights fall to dust- it was then he knew that Tormund and Gendry's teams succeeded. He spied one Wight nearly killing Brianne of Tarth, but it turned to dust before it could even stab her in the back. It seemed Brianne didn't notice since she was hacking away at the Wights with Oathkeeper, her Valyrian steel sword, while thousands of other Wights all over the battlefield turned to dust. But the more than eighty thousand Wights that remained were still like a sea rushing through the Northern forces- more of the living were dying than vice versa.

But now, Jon could hear his heart beat slow down as he crumbled to his knees and stared at the blood pooling on the ground beneath him.

"Get up," a female voice that was unfamiliar, but gentle, whispered. Jon raised his head as everything seemed to stop in front of him. He saw Jorah far to his left- two swords stabbed into him while several Wights were hanging in mid-air as they leapt at him. He saw bodies of the Dothraki, the Unsullied, and hundreds of other Northerners lying dead on the snow some distance away from him. The snow beneath them was bright red.

"Get up," the gentle voice said again before Jon turn his head around to see even more death and destruction around him. Jon tried to concentrate on the voice… the voice seemed to be coming from a far-off distance. A voice he didn't recognize. "Get up." The voice whispered in his ear again urging him on. "Get up." Jon felt the sword that impaled him being pulled out from behind him, and then he looked up. He saw more Wight's coming at him as he willed his body to get back up to his feet.

"Jon." Jon stared at the Wight's raising their swords at him- everything was moving in slow motion, "rise!" Jon glanced at his sword, Longclaw, lying several inches away. He tried to raise his arms, but they felt heavy. But he recognized the voice… the new voice.. the one that spoke his bastard name.

"Fa… father," he whispered upon hearing the voice of the former Lord of Winterfell, Lord Eddard Stark. Jon didn't know if he was going insane from the pain that permeated his entire body, but he knew that he really heard the man he thought was his father whisper in his ear. And despite knowing the truth of his parentage, Eddard's voice brought warmth to him.

And suddenly, his surroundings moved fast. Jon screamed in pain and dove left, grabbed the hilt of his own Valyrian steel sword just as the Wights that surround him stabbed the ground where he was just kneeling. Pain going through his body, Jon grabbed the sword with his right hand, and then a pack of snow with his left hand. Screaming in pain, he pushed his body up and pressed the snow into his wound to dull the pain while swinging his sword at the oncoming Wights.

Jon screamed in rage- how dare the Wights and Whitewalkers come into the land that was his home- that thought remained in his mind while he swung his sword. As he fought, blood still pouring out of the wound, Jon thought about Sansa, Bran and Arya. He thought about the statues in the crypts beneath Winterfell, he thought about the statue of the woman who had faded blue winter-roses around her head, he remembered the statue of the man who raised him. Their statues faced each other silently.

And he stood between them; as Jon blocked a sword, he recalled rushing past Dany, Tyrion, Jorah, and everyone else as he rushed past them to the crypts of Winterfell. Jon demanded answers… he demanded answers that could never be answered as he stood in between the statues of Eddard and Lyanna Stark.

Jon wanted to scream at Eddard's statue, he wanted to say what was in his heart upon learning the truth. And before he could, Job remembered how much Eddard loved him. Even if Catelyn did everything in her power to ignore Jon, Eddard loved him. He treated him as his own son, 'because I was his own… his own blood. He always said I was of his blood. Stark blood.' Jon remembered turning to Lyanna and collapsed to his knees, 'Lyanna's blood.' That was a week ago- and he still wasn't used to the idea of his parentage.

Back in the present, Jon could feel Ned next to him as he fought and killed even more Wights, twenty more before there another scream. He could hear Ned in his ear urging him on, telling his to fight… to cut, or parry… telling him to swing the sword while his body started to weaken from the blood loss.

Suddenly, a scream of pain and loss rang through the air. He glanced up, as did many of the Wights and the Combined Forces… putting a lull in the battle. Jon and the Living stared in abject shock and horror as Rhaegal fell towards the ground screaming with Viserion's jaws around his neck. Jon stared shaking his head as Drogon fired a stream of fire at the badly burnt Viserion who, after crashing onto the ground with Rhaegal beneath him, snapped the latter's neck before taking off into the air once again, barely missing another stream of fire from Drogon.

Jon, horrified, looked up at Drogon who flew overhead with several injuries and burn marks visible on its scaled body. Jon saw Dany, riding Drogon's back, as she came about, screamed in rage before ordering her dragon to fire.

'Two dragons… we lost two dragons,' Jon thought to himself as he looked around before continuing the fight against the Wights who returned to their attacks, 'the dragon glass weapons are working but… but this is too many. Too many.'

Then there was another hellish roar as Drogon retreated just as the still burning Viserion shifted in the air, turned, and then fired at Drogon who banked left. Viserion- the Night King still riding the dragon- fired a blue stream of fire as he banked left while Drogon banked right. Two dragons fired at each other- both missing their targets.

Then there was a roar. Jon looked up after killing two more Wight and watched as the dead Rhaegal rose up on his two feet and then took to the sky. The two dead dragons flapped their massive wings and faced off against their roaring brother, 'Dany, I'm so sorry,' Jon thought. He thought of Sansa, Bran, and Arya- he failed them.

The enemy had two dragons on their side which was something they hadn't anticipated. This battle was lost, and Jon knew they would be annihilated unless they retreated back to Winterfell to regroup and hope that the wildfire reached Winterfell. 'At full speed, we can make it back to Winterfell in under three days. But have we delayed the inevitable? The dead has more soldiers to fight on its side and… and the living are so few.'

"Retreat!" Jon screamed as the sting from his wound returned to his body. They needed to race back to Winterfell. They needed another plan. "Retreat!" Brienne heard him, and then screamed the signal to back away. Up in the air, the wind carried Jon's order to the troops on the ground. Daenerys looked down at the man, and saw the red specks on the snow and on his back as he backed away. She saw the Northerners follow the orders of their former king; with Brianne riding over to him, and helping him up to her horse. She saw the living begin their retreat as horns blew from the Combined Northern Forces.

Suddenly, the fighting by the Wights stopped.; they were not pursuing the living.

Dany stared in surprise, as did the ones on the ground, while the Wights stopped fighting and stared at the combined Northern army. And they just stared. Dany looked down over Drogon's back and saw the ground littered with the bodies of her Dothraki and Unsullied… all surrounded by the Wights who were standing still. Dany looked at Jon, her former lover, who was sitting behind Brianne as they looked around at the Wights that surrounded them… Dany could make out the look of surprise on their faces, as well as the look of surprises on Jamie and the other survivors.

From her vantage point, Dany could make out nearly half of her original force survived as they travelled further away from the army of the dead that stood standing still, 'and the others are in the army of the dead.' She wanted to burn as many as she possibly could, but with the Night King having two dragons, 'I'll be putting Drogon at risk. I.. I lost two children, and… and how… how can I lose another needlessly.' She glared at the Night King who looked back at her… and then a small smile came on his face while pointing at the ground with his left hand.

Dany turned her chin up at the blue skinned being and locked her jaw. She guessed what he was telling her without any words, 'I have an undead force. I can kill all of you at any time.' And Dany knew that the Night King was capable of backing up his threat. There were two dragons on his side, and he could very well kill everyone now with only one of them, and then use the other to attack her and Drogon. 'He's toying with us. Letting us escape so that.. so that we can prepare for another attack. An attack that will smash the final bit of resistance in the North. He… he wants us… the survivors to…'

"Spend the next days with your kindred," a growling voice emanated from the Night King, the wind carrying it to Dany's stunned ears, "my dragons and my Wights will lay siege to all you hold dear, and soon you will be one of my soldiers. Make no mistake, this world will belong to the dead." Dany heard shouts and the blowing of horns from the ground as the Combined army retreated towards Winterfell. She looked at the now unconscious Jon as blood continued to flow down his back, and then back at the Night King. She then turned her head to Viserion, and Rhaegal. Her eyes narrowed in rage, Dany turned back to the Night King.

"This war is not over," Dany yelled out at the Night King, "it's will never be over. Not until you end."

Dany then came about, and flew over the army protectively while the Night King simply smiled. He watched the Combined Forces retreat before raising his arms and looking down at his army. An army that was joined by more dead men and women. Once the Army was ready, he looked back at Dany's back- he knew it was a matter of time before she joined his army.

'And this Long Night will last until the end of time' the Night King thought.

TBC


End file.
